


Thinner Lines

by Jennifer-Oksana (JenniferOksana)



Category: Alias (TV), The Shield
Genre: Action/Adventure, Betrayal, Case Fic, Crossover, Espionage, F/M, Het, Police Procedural, Romance, Travel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-16 05:49:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5816554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferOksana/pseuds/Jennifer-Oksana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the worlds of the CIA and the Barn get mixed up, things get messy. Well, things were already messy. Things get messier and Vic finds himself working with people dirtier than he is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: The Setup

**+Part One: The Setup+**

**_(Los Angeles, CA)_ **

Shit was not going well.

"Put the gun DOWN, Mackey!" the woman in the fed-wear screamed, her thin face alive with bare fury. "I swear to God, I will shoo..."

The bullet screamed out of Vic's gun in a familiar ballistic arc, stopped only by the solid facade of Arvin Sloane's upper chest as it dove through the trajectory bravely and stupidly. Cloth ripped, blood sprayed out, and bits of muscle, skin, and bone not quite recognizable as such spattered in regular patterns as decreed by the laws of physics.

Fed-wear woman didn't pause, even as the little man went down choking and coughing. She took aim with her new weapon, the one he was under strict orders from three different parties to destroy, and fired...directly at Vic.

Black.

* * *

**_(72 Hours Earlier)_ **

His name was Jack Bristow; he'd worked for the CIA for decades, and he was a bona fide son of a bitch. Good-looking son of a bitch, Claudette would admit, but colder than ice. Not that she minded if he was here to bust Mackey for whatever shit he was into this time, but Bristow's stare was giving her the creeps.

He didn't seem any fonder of them, either. "Tell him now," Bristow was saying, bullying one of the officers. "I don't care what he's got going. This supersedes it."

"What, it's a matter of national security?" Dutch asked sarcastically. Bristow gave him a hard look, and he shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "That's what you and your people do. We just try to clean up the scumbags around the city, Agent Bristow."

"Then our intentions are in accord," Bristow said, sitting down with the black coffee. Vic was in the pen five minutes later, looking uncomfortable.

"What's going on?" he asked. "I got a call about the CIA needing to talk to me. What's this shit about?"

"Ever hear of the Derevko sisters, Vic?" Bristow asked, standing up and leaving the cup to spill everywhere. "You've got some explaining to do."

They disappeared into the back room, and Dutch chuckled. "That's what he gets for fucking around with spooks and mobsters," he said. "Guy doesn't look too stable, does he? Typical career agent -- paranoid, heartless sons of bitches who'd kill their own wives 'for the good of the country.' You ever hear of the Derevko sisters before this?"

"No," Claudette said. "You?"

"Nothing. Russian mob? Dummy fronts for terrorists, maybe," asked Dutch.

"I care about the Russian mob?"

"Point."

* * *

The guy had barely introduced himself as Agent Jack Bristow when he slammed Vic into a chair.

"I didn't think you wanted me to announce you've been aiding and abetting terrorists in front of your colleagues, Mr. Mackey," Bristow said. "But you're not far from finding yourself in a federal prison for the rest of your life."

Mackey didn't scare easily. "Bullshit," he said. "If you could haul me in for terrorism, your spook ass would have me handcuffed to a desk right fucking now, Bristow."

This truth didn't seem to please Bristow much. "You're fucking with the Derevko sisters, Mackey," he said. "Irina Derevko is an international terrorist under sentence of death. Surely you knew that."

"I don't know an Irina Derevko," Mackey replied. "In fact, I don't know what the fuck you're talking about, Agent Bristow."

"Does LAPD regularly turn a blind eye to Russian terrorists with such a blase explanation?" Jack snapped, the words bitten off angrily. "Or is that Barn policy?"

Vic slammed his hands down on the table. "Last I checked, the CIA wasn't paying me to do their job for 'em, Bristow," he said. "You're not here to string me up, so get past the bullshit and tell me what you want. Then we'll see if we can do business."

Bristow fumed for a minute or so, then took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and gave Vic a look of utter contempt. Vic didn't give a shit what the son of a bitch thought of him; if he had proof that Vic was fucking with the Russian sisters, he either didn't have enough, or he wanted to use it to blackmail him. Either way, Vic wasn't about to do the CIA any favors today.

"I want the Derevko sisters in my custody in seventy-two hours," Jack said. "Or I throw you in jail for violating the PATRIOT Act and aiding and abetting known terrorists."

Charming guy. He'd clearly missed his calling in becoming a spook when so many mobsters needed consiglieres. "And you think I can produce them? From my ass maybe?" Vic replied.

"I don't care how, where, or if you ruin your career in process. I want the Derevkos in custody," Jack said coolly. Vic put his hands up. "Irina Derevko sent an assassin after my daughter in retaliation for my recent successful attempts to destabilize her organization. I want them shut down."

"If it's doable, I'll do it. What happens if I get in contact and they tell me to go to hell?" Vic asked, lying through his teeth. It would have been nice if Elena had warned him about what an asshole Jack was. Maybe she didn't know.

"Call me. I'll make sure you have a nice cell at Guantanamo Bay," Jack said, rising to his feet. "Good afternoon, Mackey."

* * *

Jack Bristow made it all the way to the Excursion before any cracks appeared in his facade. The half-disguised driver of the SUV smiled at him, and he found himself smiling back.

But he was a professional, and the car was well out of Farmington before he let his guard down...as far as he'd let it down with this driver.

"Did Mr. Mackey agree to your terms?" Irina asked.

Jack nodded. "He wasn't even rattled. Gave me a bit of guff about not being able to produce you, but he didn't seem terribly worried about the seventy-two hour deadline," he said.

Irina sniffed with dry amusement. "Vic Mackey is not terribly bright," she said coolly. "But he is effective, and Elena would have no reason not to meet with him. It's a relatively simple tail job, and we'll finally have her."

She leaned over, apparently incautious of the perils of LA freeway driving, and kissed Jack on the corner of his mouth. One eye on the road, Jack turned so that the kiss was a **bit** more satisfying.

"I've missed you," Jack said, stroking her shoulder before pulling away as Irina maneuvered a tricky lane shift toward the freeway offramp.

"Me, too," Irina said, smiling like Mona Lisa. "And once Elena is out of the way, things will be much more comfortable."

"For both of us," Jack said, matching her smile as the traffic slowed to a crawl.

 


	2. Part Two: The History

**+Part Two: The History+**

_**(Two Months Ago. Kern Little's Studio)** _

Meeting up with Kern hadn't been easy, not with Shane on his ass and Rawling to convince that he was trustworthy to run her new task force. But Kern had been pretty fucking insistent and Vic was interested in what could put a bug up the man's ass that deep.

It hadn't much impressed him that Kern had met him with half an entourage -- a couple of Eastern European whores, two or three homies, and his latest ingenue.

"Get 'em the hell out of here, Kern," Vic said bluntly. "I'm a man on a schedule."

"You sure?" Kern asked, gesturing at one of the whores, a tall, gorgeous woman about Vic's age or a little older in a suit. Maybe she wasn't a hooker; maybe she was a pimp.

"All of them, smart guy," Vic said. Kern grinned, shrugged at the tall whore, and got rid of them. "Now you going to tell me what's going on, or do I have to kick your ass?"

"I met a new patron on my European tour, man," Kern said, looking duly unimpressed with Vic. "Two of them. Russian sisters, big time international hitters. I think the name's Derevko. You ever hear of 'em?"

"Not that I can recall," Vic said. "So you're saying you don't know me anymore?"

"I'm saying you're not the landlord here anymore, Vic," Kern replied diffidently. "The Russian sisters heard about the situation down here in Farmington, about how there was upheaval and opportunities, and they said they'd make things easier for everyone if they were allowed to move in and clean up. You noticed there aren't so many dealers and girls on the street, right?"

Vic grimaced. "You know I haven't been out on the street like I used to be," he said. "Strike Team's broken up, and Rawling can't decide where I'm the most effective. I'm on the street more than I was, but it's in fits and spurts."

"Guess that means you're pretty irrelevant," Kern said.

"Guess that means you're not thinking, Kern," Vic said. "Russian mafia? You think you're better off trusting the Russians than me?"

Kern laughed. "I think it means the Russian sisters run things tight, and you ain't even been 'round to trust," he said. "However, I did mention your name to Elena, about how you've had some trouble with the Armenians and shit? And Miss Elena, she'd like to meet you."

"Elena?"

"The little sister," Kern said casually. "Bitch is the hottest thing I've ever seen, and she can drop a homeboy from half a block away with the right rifle. She's the one running things. Big sister I haven't seen since I got back from Europe. I only met Irina the once. She's older, quieter, and she's top bitch. Not that I'd recommend you saying that to Elena, if you want to stay alive."

"So you called me here because your new boss wants a meeting?" Vic asked. "Where is she?"

Kern crossed his arms, smirked, and jerked his head toward the outer chambers of the studio, where Vic had so unceremoniously deposed the rest of Kern's entourage. Of course, the tall woman smiled back. Vic groaned.

"I can already tell I don't love the new arrangement, Kern," he said. "Give her my apologies and tell her I'd love to talk."

"Can do," Kern said. "Shit, this was worth it just for the look on your face, Mackey."

Vic fixed him with a cold look. "Just let Ms. Derevko in and save the gloating for later, got it?"

* * *

Elena Derevko didn't look much older than Vic, but she acted it. First thing she did was sit down, light up a cigarette, and gesture to him where he was supposed to sit with a smirk ruining the smooth-as-cream attitude.

"Kern says you run the street," Elena said, sounding less like a Russian than he'd expected. She could pass for American if you weren't listening too hard. "They call you their...landlord."

"You got an offer for me or not, Ms. Derevko?" Vic asked. "Kern said you wanted to meet me, and while I like to know who's trying to run Farmington without my permission, I don't have time to hear my reputation rehashed in front of me."

She had a set of legs on her, and used them, uncrossing and recrossing her legs lazily. "I want you to pretend I don't exist," she said.

"I can do that," Vic said. "But if you're asking me to help the Barn to get collective amnesia, that's up to you. If your guys run around staffing bangers with Russian automatics, or if the Los Mags are suddenly dealing pure Russian heroin, I'm not taking the fall for you."

"Oh, that's a pity," Elena said, smoothing her skirt. "I pay you for the privilege of doing your job for me, and you can't help me even a little?"

"ACG isn't under my control anymore, Ms. Derevko," Vic said. "I can't un-link you from that."

"ACG? Fuck that," Elena said with surprising vehemence. "I'm not in bed with those morons. And despite your aspersions on my competence, I certainly won't be staffing your gangsters with my own guns."

Vic didn't understand what she wanted from him, and that wasn't sitting well with him. "Then why do I need to know you exist to pretend you don't?" he asked. "What do you want me to do for you, Ms. Derevko?"

"Things are going to begin happening in Farmington," she said. "They won't appear connected to the Russian mafia or myself, but they will attract federal attention. I give you a list of the crimes that may become investigations. Keep Holland Wagenbach and Claudette Wyms away from them if you can. Confuse the evidence. Become eager to work with any feds that show up."

"You think the Dutch-boy can bust you?" Vic asked. "That nervous virgin? He'd fall over himself to try to get in your pants."

"Figured out your ass was involved with the money train, didn't he?" Elena retorted. "He's sharp. I don't intend to get sloppy, but he apprehended this cuddler rapist on parking tickets. Don't underestimate him."

"Don't tell me how to do my job," Vic replied, half-standing. "I still don't see how you're helping me."

Elena smirked. "I do all sorts of tricks," she said. "For instance, offshore accounts appear miraculously, but only when no one's looking besides you and me. And my best trick? I make Armenians disappear!"

Vic's building irritation disappeared. "Armenians?" he asked.

"No more Armenians. As a measure of good faith," Elena replied. "So...perhaps we can do business, Detective Mackey?"

The Russian accent was a fake, Vic realized. He wondered if he could have Ronnie look her up off-the-record to find out where a Russian mafiosa could come from to sound like a Valley girl pretending to be from Moscow.

"I think that's a safe bet," Vic answered.

* * *

(Four months ago. Istanbul.)

"We don't have time for this," Jack protested feebly, Irina's mouth hard against his shoulder.

"Oh," Irina replied, idly undoing his belt. "You may not have the time, but I specifically scheduled time for this. Why else a hotel room?"

Why else, indeed? Jack yielded to Irina's warm, roaming hands, lifting her chin upward before kissing her, enjoying the passion of the kiss. How long could they wait between being lovers again? Ever since they had agreed to this plan, they had been unable to go longer than two months without meeting and making love.

"Sloane suspects," he said between kisses, while Irina was busily ridding herself of her bra. "I think we'll have to bring him in sooner than we meant to."

Irina's grimace was not romantic. "Business later," she said.

"Much later," Jack answered, putting his hand on her bared back, over each articulating vertebra as Irina arches back and sways forward, her leg hooking around his.

They knew what was between them was not good, but after so many years of denying world-ending passion, love, and hatred, it was impossible to stop now.

"Do you have a body?" Jack asked after, Irina's hair sweat-damp and both of them covered with a thin cotton sheet in late afternoon dimness. "It's essential that Sydney cannot deny your death or my complicity in it."

"Trust me," Irina replied, one arm carelessly posed over her head while her nipples pointed toward him and her other hand rested atop one hip invitingly.

"Not for a second," Jack replied ruthlessly, covering her with his body.

"We don't have time for this," Irina complained even as her legs circled Jack's waist.

"We do," Jack replied with a look of triumph. "I anticipated that the first few hours would be taken up with personal business, Madam Derevko."

Irina smiled. "Then by all means," she said, pulling him to her breasts. "Let's continue."

 


	3. Part Three: Enter the Feds

  **+Part Three: Enter the Feds+**

_**(Eight days ago, APO)** _

"I think he's going to kick my ass," Weiss said, ignoring the smirk on his best friend's face. "What?"

"You're about twice his size," Vaughn answered. "And I never thought I'd see you scared that Arvin Sloane was going to kick your ass, man."

Weiss shrugged. "You try dating his daughter," he said. "Especially when it's pretty damn clear he thinks you're a big dumb puppy."

Vaughn laughed. "There's no way in hell he thinks you're a puppy," he said. "Big and dumb, maybe, but puppy isn't a word in Sloane's vocabulary."

Sydney entered on this last half of the sentence and grinned quizzically. "Why not?" she asked.

"Because associating Eric with puppies isn't possible in the world of Sloane," Vaughn said, winking at Weiss before giving Syd a kiss on the cheek.

"No," Sydney agreed. "Sometimes I wonder what you guys talk about when we're not around, but then I realize I don't want to know. Meeting in five."

Weiss glared at Vaughn as Sydney walked off for the conference room. "I'm going to get you for that later, Mike," he threatened.

"What? Telling you that you're not a puppy?" Vaughn answered. "You're the one scared Sloane's gonna kick your ass. I'd like to see you take me on."

Neither Sloane nor Jack seemed particularly amused by Weiss and Vaughn's entry about four minutes later, nor Vaughn's rather tousled appearance. Syd was looking on quizzically, but Nadia was grinning. Weiss felt better; at least **she** got it.

"Everyone with us today?" Sloane asked, glaring at the two agents. They nodded. "Good. Marshall, show everyone the force pistol."

Marshall, sweating slightly, pulled out a weird-looking pistol that looked like something you'd use in a science-fiction movie rather than in the field. It was brass, with wraparound coils, fluting, and a strange muzzle that fanned out and looked like it expanded and contracted along a semicircular arc.

"Looks like something from Constantine, huh? Dragon's breath and, uh, you know, fire fire fire, screaming demons, bugs, Keanu saying, you know, whoa, right?" Marshall babbled. Everyone nodded along. "But you'd be wrong. This is an energy-field projector, or as Sloane calls it, a force pistol."

"It runs on the Force?" Weiss asked. Marshall, Vaughn, and Sydney laughed. Nadia smiled politely. Sloane did not look amused. "Sorry."

"You're almost right, though," Marshall said, beaming. "See, the elaborate coils and loops are because this baby produces a chemical reaction inside it. When you depress the trigger, that chemical reaction goes boom, and you get a shock wave, like...pfoosh! Suddenly your enemy is flat on his back. Her back."

"That wouldn't kill them," Sydney said.

"Au contraire," Marshall said, waving the energy-field projector. "If you narrow the force projection properly so that instead of dispersing, it stays in a narrowly focused path, at short-distance ranges of three to five feet, it'll crush someone. Between five feet and ten yards, it would do some damage, probably fatal the closer you are. Ten and twenty yards, knocks you down. Twenty to twenty-five, like someone hit you in the back of the head, like if you forgot to bring home diapers."

Everyone recoiled a bit, and Marshall realized he'd been waving the projector around recklessly. He grimaced and put it down.

"We've discovered that a joint Chinese-Russian collective project has developed ten working prototypes of the force-projector weapon," Sloane said, drawing everyone's attention to him. "They have a lab in the Los Angeles area they intend to funnel the prototypes through before distributing them to various drop points in North America and the East Pacific."

"Where in LA?" Sydney asked.

"Farmington," Sloane answered. "LAPD's been running some extremely powerful and independent units out of that precinct, and there's been a great deal of turnover since Captain David Aceveda was elected to the City Council."

"There appears to be serious corruption in Farmington," Jack added, advancing the projector from the drop points. "We have reason to believe someone on the inside masterminded a heist from the Armenian mob -- their so-called 'money train' -- about nine months ago."

"I heard about that," Vaughn said. "Didn't the guys get away with over ten million dollars? And you think cops did it? And got away with it?"

"I think it's possible," Sloane said. "You see, the Chinese-Russian operation reported to Irina Derevko, but since her death--" he paused as both Sydney and Nadia tensed-- "We've been unable to locate Irina's successor, until we located **this** interesting footage."

Video of a very flamboyant rap concert flashed onscreen. "Is that Kern Little?" Weiss asked, looking at the man in the middle of things.

"Yes," Sloane said. "Ignore him, and look at the women in the background. Anyone look familiar?"

Sydney looked at each of the women, who mostly looked like prostitutes and groupies, until... "Mom," she said. Nadia gave her a sharp look. "That's definitely Mom. Who's the woman with her?"

"Her sister Elena," Jack said. "Elena is the youngest Derevko sister. Most investigations don't bother with her because she's a low-level thug, more interested in guns and drugs and prostitution than international terrorism. We've confirmed that she met with Kern Little, who we're fairly certain has a deal with the police."

Nadia nodded suddenly. "She'd take the pressure off Farmington and the recent scandals by lowering crimes rates a little...not enough to interest the press, but enough to allow whomever her patsy is to have breathing space. She might even organize the local gangsters for a cut of the profit. Irina would have used her as cover...and now that she's..."

"Elena would have had to go with her own instincts, which would be to move things places where she felt safe," Jack finished. "Excellent insights, Nadia."

"So what do we do next?" Sydney asked.

"We tear open Farmington and see what skitters into the light," Sloane said. "Get to work."

* * *

(Seven days ago, the Barn)

Nadia was surprised to see that the Barn had been a church; it seemed wrong, somehow, to have a sacred place become a bustling, stinking police precinct. And this place was profane as it could be.

Her target was Shane Vendrell; he had been on an elite unit known as the Strike Team until its dispersion about two and a half months ago. All the intelligence they had managed to gather had suggested he and Vic Mackey (the leader of the Strike Team and a major suspect) had been closer than brothers until then. He was also proudly macho, swaggering as he showed her a picture of his wife and infant son.

Piece of cake, as Eric would say.

"It must be difficult, Detective Vendrell, to raise a family on a police officer's salary," Nadia said, smiling as she cast doubt on his manhood. "Especially with the dissolution of the Strike Team."

"It's been easier, yeah," Vendrell answered, far more cagily than someone as loose as Shane should have. "But the Strike Team caused as many problems as it solved. Now, isn't it right that the CIA isn't supposed to have any jurisdiction over American citizens, Agent Santos?"

"Of course, Detective," Nadia said, surprised that the unlettered oaf knew that. AM radio, maybe? "But as our team leader, Agent Bristow, told your captain, this is a joint CIA-FBI operation."

Shane looked confused briefly, and then something clicked. "Shit yeah!" he said. "I remember, those sons of bitches in Washington are trying to combine you guys or something. Must suck, huh?"

He seemed better informed than Nadia about the state of the CIA. "Where do you learn this, Detective?" she asked.

"KOGO, AM 690," he replied. "So what's this all about?"

* * *

"We think Russians are trying to fence weaponry through Farmington," Vaughn said, looking at the expressions of cautious disbelief on Detectives Wyms and Wagenbach's faces. They were apparently one block of a triangulated power struggle inside the Barn, ever since Wyms sacrificed her career to get hundreds of cases retried because of a junior defender's drug addiction. Wagenbach was willingly joining Wyms in exile, despite his record, and Vaughn admired that.

"In a joint operation with the Armenians?" Wagenbach asked, glancing at Wyms before looking back at Vaughn with troubled eyes. "You haven't heard anything about the Armenians, have you?"

"No, sir," Vaughn said. "Why don't you tell me, and we'll see if these cases match?"

Wagenbach looked at him suspiciously. "You're serious? Or is this a set-up?" he asked.

"We're as serious about ending international mafia activity as you are, Detective," Vaughn said.

"Well," and Wagenbach paused. "I don't have many facts. Just speculation. But if you don't mind me saying so, it's pretty solid speculation..."

* * *

"Something is definitely going on," Sydney said later. "Say the word Armenian, and everyone gets very, very cagey. Mackey's good, though. If he's our guy, he deserves his reputation."

Vaughn nodded. "Wagenbach thinks he's up to something. Couldn't get what out of him, because Dutch is protecting his partner right now, and he's not going to go up against Mackey until he feels out his support with Rawling. Any idea of where she falls, Syd?"

Sydney shook her head. "She seems determined to work on the idea of clean slates all over the Barn," she said. "Nadia, what did you get out of Detective Vendrell?"

Nadia grinned. "A phone number?" she said, ignoring Weiss's scowl. "Detective Vendrell is fascinating. He knows a lot more than he's saying, and he's fallen out with your Detective Mackey. He would still rather die than betray whatever happened, despite having a wife and new son."

Dixon nodded. "The same goes for Detectives Gardocki and Lemansky. They idolize the guy," he said. "It sounds like our best bets for information are Wyms and Wagenbach."

"Only if we can leverage Wyms back into contention for the captain's position," Vaughn said. "She's out of the loop. And Wagenbach is absolutely disinterested in doing anything but solving cases and helping her. And I get the feeling everyone in the Barn is tired of the drama. They want to buckle down and do their jobs, and being used by the CIA doesn't give anyone anything they want."

Weiss looked tired at that news, drumming his fingers on the table. "So you're saying if Farmington is being used by Elena Derevko, it could happen and nobody would care?" he asked.

Silence.

"Great," he said. "Good to know the US government can be completely screwed by LAPD."

* * *

(Later that evening, Vic Mackey's residence)

"Why can't I stay up later? **You** are," Cassidy complained sourly. She had been pushing for all sorts of privileges ever since Vic's temporary mistake of letting her watch television before homework.

"No, I'm not, and you have to get up in the morning," Vic replied. "Don't start with me, Cassidy. Get to bed."

"You're not fair," Cassidy whined, but she stomped off to bed as loudly as she could when she caught the look on Vic's face.

He was about to panic. The CIA was asking about the Russian sisters, and while he hadn't let anyone else in on it, Vic was sure Shane wouldn't waste time pulling himself out of the shit by ingratiating himself with the spooks. Fortunately for him, the agent who'd been interviewing him was clueless; cute, but clearly with no clue about how things worked in the Barn.

The phone rang in the middle of Vic's increasingly unpleasant thoughts. "Hello?" he said.

"We need to talk," Elena said.

"Not on the fucking phone," Vic said, appalled that an international criminal could be that stupid.

"Of course, not on the fucking phone," Elena replied bitchily. "Your wife's fucking paranoid. I wouldn't put it above her to tap the phone. But you don't pay attention to my other calls, where it's safe. What else could I do?"

Smart. It might not fool anyone who knew her, but Vic got the feeling those agents had never heard Elena's voice. "Not call me after my daughter's in bed," he said, trying to figure out where Elena would get him a message.

"I miss you, baby," Elena whined, sounding very much like a needy mistress. "I bought a new teddy, just like you like, got my hair done pretty, but you never call anymore."

"Calm down," Vic said, completely unable to think up a fake name for her. "You know I've been busy. I can't wait to see your lingerie."

"Soon," Elena said, half-purring and half-sulking. "Promise?"

"I promise, very soon," Vic agreed, hanging up and looking at the pile of junk mail in the bin. Fuck. Nothing like a spy who didn't know how to tip you off properly.

Or, Vic realized, noticing a bill from Frederick's of Hollywood and retrieving it, being so busy fighting your kid that you missed the blatantly obvious.

 


	4. Part Four: Muddied Waters

**+Part Four: Muddied Waters+**

_**(Six days ago, near Kern Little's studio)** _

"Elena won't show up. She's got to know this place is tagged," Jack said, watching the surveillance video. "So tell me, Arvin, why we're taking this unnatural interest in rap impresarios and their studios?"

Sloane smiled dryly. "I thought we might want to talk privately, Jack," he said. "Why Elena? Why now? I can't imagine ridding ourselves of the last living Derevko sister will make things easier for Irina."

Jack's expression was not pleasant. "Are you asking if I'm getting my orders from Irina, Arvin?" he asked. "Or are you asking if I trust her orders?"

"Let's say both," Sloane replied. "I can't believe no one has questioned your rather unusual travel patterns of the last year, but then, you're the good father."

"If you came here to debate parenting, perhaps we can reschedule this," Jack said, rising as if to leave. "What do you want?"

"I want to know why Irina has to bring Elena down now," Sloane said. "I also want to know how many of those weapons Marshall was waving around are actually operational and how many Elena knows are operational?"

Jack's eyes narrowed, and he looked around suspiciously. "That's information I'm not sure I trust you with," he said.

"Don't trust me with or don't know?" Sloane taunted. "I think you're a fool to trust Irina's judgment on what to tell me, Jack. If Elena needs to go down, then far be it for me to disagree. If Irina just wants her gone because it's convenient for Irina? I don't want to risk APO on this."

Jack turned his back on Sloane, refusing to say anything as he left. Sloane snorted, and then turned back to his surveillance of Kern Little's studio. It wasn't hard to see which way the wind was blowing, and that led to all sorts of interesting questions about what, if anything, Elena Derevko knew and how much it would be worth to any number of parties to make her safely dead.

* * *

(Same time, Hollywood)

"This is fucking ridiculous," Vic said, confronted with an Elena Derevko who was apparently trying to decide between bra-and-panty sets and waved when she saw him.

"Oh, yeah," Elena agreed. "But who on earth has tense private meetings at Frederick's of Hollywood?"

"Nobody," Vic said. "Not even us. Buy whatever you're going to buy and let's get out of here."

Elena pouted outrageously, and then swished a white lace number and a red satin number in front of Vic with an unrepentant smile. "Which one?"

"The white."

"Aw," Elena said petulantly. "You didn't even blush. Come on, let's go."

"Without paying?" Vic asked, enjoying how irritated she was with him for being unflappable. What the shit did she think, that he'd never had someone try to get on his dick before for fun?

Elena snorted, and off they went to her car, which was not a limo and looked like shit. Not what a badass Russian mafia don drove at all.

"This isn't bugged?" he asked, surprised at how casually she slid into the thing and expected him to follow.

"Now it's not," Elena replied, tapping her watch. "There's only so much paranoia I can manage at a time, Mr. Mackey."

Vic wasn't buying it. "Then why did you set up a meeting? You know the CIA is trying to tag you for your sister's death, right? And for funneling arms through Farmington?"

Elena blinked. "Arms?" she asked. "They think I'm dealing arms here? No offense, but this is not where I'd sell my wares."

"I didn't get much info, but word has it you're trying out some new kind of gun," Vic said. "No bullets. Some kind of sound wave, maybe? The girl they had talking to me asked if I'd seen any bodies with crushed faces."

At that tidbit, Elena paled. "My sister's not dead," she said. "Whoever told you that is wrong or grievously deceived."

Vic shrugged. "Agent Sydney Bristow," he said. "Cute girl, didn't seem that with it."

Elena gaped at him. "Sydney Bristow is my sister's eldest daughter, and the daughter of the man I believe helped Irina fake her death," she said. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"No kidding, fuck," Vic said. "How much of your family is tied up in this shit? And what do you expect me to do about it? Can't keep the feds off your ass, or Dutch-boy, neither."

"Ironic," Elena said. "I can't do much, either. Except tell the Armenians that you're behind their missing money train. Why not? Everyone goes down together, all us corrupt bastards."

"You're blackmailing me," Vic said, surprised she'd waited this long to spring that trap.

"I'm asking for help, Vic," she said with an impressively realistic tremor of fear in her voice. "My sister wants me dead so she can have access to her old files back without raising suspicion. I don't have many friends."

"So you're going to buy a few?" asked Vic, unmoved by the pathos.

"If I have to, yeah," Elena said, a hard glint coming into her eyes and taking the beauty out of her face. "I'd love it if you helped me out of the kindness of your heart, but if not, you can discover just how unpleasant a Derevko can make your life. The only choice you have in this situation is how unpleasant you want it to be."

Vic recognized that he was beaten for now. At least she was willing to sweeten the blow. "Then I guess what I want to know what I can do to help, Elena," he said, feigning interest.

Elena chuckled, and took them on the freeway. "My sister has a new kind of gun," she said. "Basically, it works like a directed shock wave. Knocks you flat on your ass at twenty feet, crushes your head at point-blank range. Get one of those little fuckers aimed at a building's foundation and it goes boom. Untraceable, because how do you do ballistics on a wave of force? They'll be able to triangulate location, eventually, but there's no bullet, no patterns on waves."

"Sounds like a nifty terrorist trick," Vic said, expressionless.

"Yeah, no kidding," Elena said. "As far as I know, there's only one of them, and Irina has it. You destroy it for me and help me get out of the shit for this? I pay handsomely, and promise that no Armenian hitman will ever darken your doorstep. Besides which, you're a hero. You have slowed the growth of terrorism. The real CIA...and what Jack Bristow and Arvin Sloane have concocted is only an imitation...will be very pleased with you."

"I get to be a hero, well-paid, and free of the mob?" Vic asked sarcastically. "There couldn't be a catch, could there?"

Elena snorted. "Irina will probably kill you," she said. "She's that good, no matter what I tell you, she's probably two steps ahead and planning to kill any witnesses. So stay alive, and there's no catch."

Vic gaped at her, shaking his head at her blase announcement of his probable death. "Great," he said. "Just fucking great."

"Well, if it makes you feel better," and Elena's smile was twisted and sympathetic, "She's going to kill me, too."

"No," Vic said, wondering when he could get out of the car. "It doesn't."

* * *

(Later that evening, Malibu)

"Sloane is going to turn on you," Jack told Irina as she greeted him with a smile and wave. The sound of the ocean would cover up anything they had to say, and nobody would be looking for Irina Derevko on a Malibu beach. "He wants to leverage Elena for any information she has, because he doesn't trust you."

"Why would he? He's absolutely devoted to keeping his daughter alive," Irina said. "I never thought to see Arvin Sloane dedicated to anything except power and Rambaldi. Or you being so willing to turn on him."

"We share a common desire to preserve our children," Jack said.

"And you think I might be fonder of Sydney than I am of Nadia?" Irina asked, looping her arm around Jack as they started walking down the shoreline.

"I think the only way to outplay you is to stay with you," Jack said. "I may not know everything you know, but I know that you know the whole truth about Sydney, and that means you're easier to predict."

"Ah," Irina said, her feet lightly dusted with sand as she set her head on his shoulder. "We play such intricate games with each other, Jack. Normal things like affection and love seem to get lost."

"You're the one who's decided to assassinate her sister," Jack said coldly. "Perhaps you might try someone else to manipulate over guilt."

Irina's smile shone at him. "Nobody who's more enjoyable than you."

 


	5. Part Five: The Plan

**+Part Five: The Plan+**

_**(Four days ago, Corinne's residence)** _

"I'll have to rearrange my schedule," Corinne objected. "Are you sure you have to take this weekend?"

Vic feigned great reluctance. "We have this damn joint operation with the feds," he said. "Some kind of weapons smuggling ring that's trying to get a foothold in Farmington. I told them it's not good for her to be uprooted in the middle of the week, but Rawling seems to want to prove she's friendlier than Aceveda."

"Right," Corinne said. "I'll try, but I can't make promises."

"Then I'll just have to ask Nikki to stay overnight," Vic said, surprised at how hard it was to get Corinne's help. "It's not something I can change, Corinne."

"So I change instead," Corinne said. "That's a great example to set for Cassidy. When push comes to shove, it's Mommy's job to compromise."

Vic sighed. "I get a bonus. If this works out, I can take all the kids to Disneyland for the weekend," he said. "Maybe out on the boat. Whatever. I'm doing this for them, too."

Corinne tapped her foot, unconvinced. "I can probably get the time," she said. "But, Jesus, Vic, you wanted Cassidy. Giving her back isn't going to help anyone."

"I know," Vic said. "But this weekend is important. You'll see."

* * *

(Roughly the same time, The Barn)

"Hey, Danny?" Dutch called, scrutinizing a file. "I need another pair of eyes to look at this."

Danny waved Julien off, and walked over to where the detective was looking at a number of case files and photographs. "What's up, Dutch?" she asked.

"Well, I'm looking at these cases the CIA was interested in, and I'm seeing some weird connections to cases I wouldn't have tied up. There are a couple of gang busts, and here's the thing. You've got this car in both pictures. Registered to the CIA, and when you jump past the hierarchy, the private car of a guy named Arvin Sloane."

Danny raised an eyebrow, pulled in a chair, and gave Dutch a look. "Jump past the hierarchy?"

"I know a guy who knows a guy," Dutch said, unembarrassed. "We trade intelligence sometimes. He owed me one."

"Weren't we looking for a connection to these Derevko sisters?" Danny asked.

"I was looking," Dutch said with a shrug. "I was combing through potential cases that would be mob-linked...theft, arson, drugs, guns. Elena Derevko is either being framed or she's a criminal genius. Either way, this Arvin Sloane guy isn't as good as she is. A few dummy companies linked to his past associates in this thing called the Alliance? Are hooked into ACG."

"Huh," Danny said. "Do you think the CIA is using the Barn for their own thing?"

Dutch laughed. "Well, yeah," he said. "That's undebatable. The question is, who's using us and why? If I were going to bet, Elena Derevko is being framed by someone. Maybe this Sloane guy. Maybe someone smarter than him."

"You think we should tell someone at the CIA?" Danny asked. "Or will that bring down the black helicopters?"

"Shit yeah, and worse!" Shane said, passing by. "If this Sloane guy's framing this bitch, I say let it go. Ain't nothing nobody can do except make it worse."

He aimed the last comment directly at Claudette, who rolled her eyes. Vic, however, managed to half-laugh before heading for a phone. He'd memorized that number Elena had given him for urgent communications at her demand; good thing he actually had a reason to use it.

* * *

(Half an hour later, an undisclosed location)

"Your sister is remarkably sanguine for someone who knows she's about to die," Jack said, buttoning up his shirt as Irina continued to listen to the conversation between Vic Mackey and Elena Derevko. "How could she let him communicate with him on any phone in the Barn? That's madness."

"Elena's not terribly bright," Irina said with a shrug, her earphones highlighting her nudity. "Oh, this is lovely. One of the detectives in Farmington has placed Sloane at several crime scenes over the past few months."

Jack almost smiled. "Really?" he asked. "How sloppy of him."

"Did you do that?" Irina asked, looking over her shoulder with a genuine grin. "Interesting."

Jack didn't smile back. Instead, he finished buttoning his shirt. "Does she seem interested in Mackey sexually?" he asked.

"Elena?" Irina asked. "God knows. Elena's a thug at heart, and Mackey probably appeals to her baser instincts. Why does it matter?"

"Perhaps she's trying to keep him alive," Jack said, putting on his shoes and glowering at a spot that clearly needed polish. "It could explain a great deal of the sloppiness. She needs an ally, and she's a beautiful woman. If Mackey was behind the money train robbery, he's smart enough to help her change the odds."

"Not that smart," Irina said. "Everyone knows he did it and can't prove it."

Jack chuckled as he stood up and walked to Irina's corner of the bed.. "Everyone knows Elena didn't do it and can't prove it," he said. "There have been worse strategies."

She lifted her head for a kiss, which Jack was glad to give. "Get him away from her, then," Irina said. "This is a fragile plan, Jack. We can't afford the risk."

* * *

(Later that afternoon)

Being carjacked by hired goons who didn't speak a word of English and thrown in the back of a Crown Victoria hadn't made Vic's afternoon. He was grateful that Cassidy was over at Corinne's today, and less terrified than annoyed.

Annoyance became downright anger when the cheap hood was taken off his head and he was sitting in a run-down motel room with Elena Derevko.

"Jesus Christ," he said. "You're a piece of work."

Elena shrugged. "My sister has the Barn bugged, probably thanks to the CIA," she said diffidently. "I decided to feed her some information."

"Fuck you," Vic answered. "I agreed to help you, but if I have to, I'll go to Rawling. You can't prove I did shit. There's no more money train money, to start with. One of my guys burnt it all."

Elena snorted. "No, really?" she asked. "I got all of it out of your friend Shane's mother-in-law. Woman's a fucking see you next Tuesday, between you and me, but I thought it was a little suspicious you and Shane were on the outs for no reason. Well, besides that wife of his."

Vic tried not to sweat. God **damn** Shane and Mara. Did everything have to be a fucking travesty with them? "So I don't like Mara. That a crime? That woman would make anyone want to kill her."

"I don't disagree," Elena said with a pretty little shrug. "Shane has shitty taste in women. But I knew you were hard up for the cash, Vic. You've got two autistic kids, your oldest is at a bad age, your ex-wife-to-be is trying to move on and resenting the hell out of you, and you're not sure what kind of cop you are. I could have gone with any of the Strike Team to help me. I chose you because I know you, Vic. I know what you need, and I know you'll help me."

With that, Elena Derevko stood up, and sat in Vic's lap, straddling him without anything other than a small smirk of triumph, daring him to say something or do anything.

"So you know everything about me," Vic said, giving Elena the once-over. With the hair and the half-undone blouse, she had a whole tousled thing going on. Not bad at all. "But I don't know shit about you, besides the fact your dead sister and her asshole husband are out to screw you, and the CIA wants to pin you for a shipment of arms you say you don't have. Frankly, you make me fucking nervous. I don't know if you want to kill me, fuck me, or set me up to take your fall."

Elena nodded, eyes staying on Vic's as she appeared to consider this. "My mother died when I was nine months old," she said slowly. "Irina and Katya gave me over to surrogates to raise to keep me safe, in deep, deep cover. Actually, I grew up in Seattle. I was fifteen before I knew I was part of all this."

She gestured around the hotel room helplessly before her hands settled on his shoulders. "My sisters are very persuasive people, Mr. Mackey. I thought being their protege would be exciting. It was, for a while."

"But now you just want out?" Vic asked, snorting.

Elena laughed, leaning back a little. "It did sound like I was looking for a way out of the biz, didn't it?" she asked. "No, I like what I do, Mr. Mackey. But I don't like playing by any rules except my own...I suspect you understand that...and I sure as hell don't intend to be set up by my big sister and her men. Irina's games, I could give a shit about."

"That so?" Vic asked, settling one hand on her back, which was warm under the thin material.

"That's so," Elena replied levelly. "Why don't you trust me, Mackey? Nobody's going to believe you're masterminding this. You're a low-level pawn to the CIA, and one of my only assets in this whole fucked-up operation. I'm not going to screw you."

"Would you recommend trusting someone who's trying to get out of a set-up by killing her sister, her sister's husband and ex-lover, and possibly both her nieces if necessary?" Vic asked. "Hitting family isn't good, Elena."

"You've never dealt with mine," Elena replied airily, brushing her lips against his jaw. "They'd kill me for their own purposes, and I'm not going to die just because I won't kill them. I'm the superfluous Derevko to everyone but me."

Vic laughed a little as Elena shifted closer. "Good to know you think you're number one," he said. "And you still want me to trust you?"

Elena shrugged. "Trust can mean a lot of things," she said to his earlobe. "I don't trust you to do some things. But I trust that you're not doing this to sell me out to the CIA, which means I trust you with my life. We all trust our lives to each other most of the time, except when we know not to trust each other. Does that make any sense?"

"Not a damn bit," Vic said, putting his other hand on her thigh and pushing the skirt up further. "So you trust me not to kill you right now, right? And that means you trust me not to kill you next week?"

"Fuck, no," Elena said. "It means I trust you not to strangle me while we're fucking tonight. It means that I trust you to be there in a few days and help me out so that you don't die and the Armenians don't fuck your family and friends. More than that, I don't trust anyone over."

Vic paused. "While we're fucking **tonight**?"

"You think I'm here to talk philosophy?" Elena asked, pulling away to stand up on her tiptoes and setting one foot in front of the other until her knees brushed his, undoing each button of her blouse slowly and letting it fall to the ground. As he'd suspected, she wasn't wearing a bra. "Unless you'd rather not because I'm too old for you."

"Christ, no," Vic said, putting his hands on her ass. "You'll do just fine, Ms. Derevko."

"Elena," she growled, falling into his lap again and grinding.

"Elena," he agreed. "Unless you'd rather not because I'm a cop you could buy."

Her tongue flicked out and dragged itself over the stubble on his jaw before she bit down on his earlobe. "Vic," she said, her arm draped over his shoulder. "I'd much rather fuck you than anyone else I can think of right now."

"Good," Vic said, cupping her breasts. "We're in agreement."

"Oh," Elena said, arching back as far as she could. "Yes, we are."

 


	6. Part Six: The Revisions

**+Part Six: The Revisions+**

_**(Seventy-two hours ago, the Barn)** _

The son of a bitch threatened him with Guantanamo. Elena was right; Bristow was dirty, and he was probably in it up to his neck with Irina Derevko. Vic found he was almost ready to go after the guy and throttle him. Where the hell did a dirty agent get off, telling **him** to produce Elena Derevko in seventy-two hours or else?

"Hey, Vic," Danny said. "You look like you're about to shit a brick. What did the spook tell you?"

"Pull some international terrorists out of my ass or go to hell," Vic said, shaking his head. "Goddamn feds. I know where Elena Derevko is?"

"It's not Elena anyway," Danny said with a shrug. "Dutch is almost convinced she's a patsy for this Arvin Sloane guy."

"Or he's a patsy for someone else," Vic said. "Hey, you and Dutch are on okay terms, right?"

Danny gave Vic a suspicious glare. "What are you saying?" she asked. "If you're saying what I think..."

"I'm saying he doesn't much like me and he's not going to believe I need his help," Vic said. "Tell him to see if he can connect any of this Sloane shit to Jack Bristow or Irina Derevko. I've got to go talk to Rawling."

The look on Danny's face went from vague offense to slight irritation and confusion. "Okay," she said to Vic's back. "Whatever that was all about..."

* * *

(Seventy hours ago, Rawling's office)

Rawling shook her head. "Jesus," she said. "You're in contact with any Derevko sister?"

"She's trying to blackmail me," Vic said, hoping Rawling did not take this badly, because everything could go to shit quickly. "Says my CI deal with Kern Little could suddenly go bad on me. I've met her the once, before I realized she was anything more than a low-level thug."

"I bet," Rawling said. "So you're sure Jack Bristow is in on it?"

"He told me if I didn't produce **both** Derevko sisters in seventy-two hours, I'd be up on the PATRIOT Act," Vic said. "You can see why I came to you immediately."

Rawling gave him a wry look. "Cut the bullshit, Vic," she said. "If Bristow's threatening you, it's probably because he can get you."

"Legally?"

"You think anyone who knows Irina Derevko's not dead cares much about the law?" she asked him. "Shit, Vic. I've been on the phone with Director Chase. She wasn't much sunnier than you about this unit's ethics."

Vic paused. "Director who?"

"She's got oversight on APO, and I don't like when the CIA hassles my officers," Rawling said. "Chase says we should continue to cooperate, but if we only manage to destroy those weapons and let Elena Derevko...or whomever's running this deal...slip past us, no harm no foul."

"And if we hit a spook who's not supposed to be there? Or the walking dead?"

She snorted. "Then we'll have some enemies," she said. "I think Chase will back us, Vic, but don't fuck around with these people. I'm not going to protect you if you start hitting CIA just for the fun of hitting them. Including Jack Bristow."

"I don't hit people," Vic said angrily. "But I don't trust them, either."

"Good," Rawling said. "That makes two of us."

* * *

(Sixty hours ago, APO)

"Someday," Weiss said, looking at the latest set of records and requisitions and shaking his head in envy, "I am going to be the big cheese, and I'm going to get to go on the cool trips."

Nadia, who was keeping him company for no reason, tilted her head and grinned. "Who's going on cool trips? Me and Sydney? Those aren't really that cool."

"No, not you guys," Weiss said, winking. "Though if you ever need a partner to go clubbing with when you're picking up the vital clue, I do an awesome robot. Not as good as Marshall's, but someday."

"Who, then?" Nadia asked. Ever since Sydney had taught her to doubt her father again, she found herself dreading proof that he was the man Sydney said he was.

"Jack," Weiss said. "Which I don't get. When did he need to go to Istanbul? Or Russia? He's been racking up the frequent flier miles."

"Huh," Nadia said. "That would be clumsy of him, to be running around on APO's money for personal trips, wouldn't it? He must have had a mission."

"Yeah," Weiss said slowly, looking at the files again. "He does, but what got my attention was the extra time. Jack's usually an in-and-out kind of guy, but there were about six or seven trips where he dawdled a day or so."

"Maybe he was shoring up contacts," Nadia said, completely unconvinced.

"Probably," Weiss agreed, looking out in the hallway as if saying his name would bring the man around. "Between you and me, I think I'm going to look a little closer. I'm not digging Sloane's new 'blame a Derevko' game. Not because I don't think they're guilty, but because it's kind of sketch. Something goes wrong? Blame a Derevko!"

Nadia half-smiled, shifting uncomfortably at the thought of her mother's family. "Why does that bother you?" she asked quietly.

Weiss leaned closer. "Between you and me?" he asked. "Two of my favorite people are Derevkos."

She couldn't help loving him. He was just so...nice. "Oh," Nadia said. "Well, if you find anything? Tell me."

"No problem," Weiss said as Nadia left. "See you."

"See you," Nadia said, heading for her desk. There were four new emails, three of which she'd been expecting. The fourth was from the provocative address dontbother@gmail.com, and intrigued, Nadia clicked on it first.

_To: Nadia Santos {nsantos@authorizedonly.gov} From: Amanda Hugginkiss {dontbother@obviouslyfaked.gmail.com} Subject: You Have an eCard!_

htps://peacehopeandpurity.ecards.org/4santamonica/!yourbirthday/tr00th0ut/l83rlam3r

And that was it. Even with the error in the URL, Nadia couldn't figure it out. Nobody was lame enough to send a message in an eCard. Not even Marshall.

She was still curious. If it turned out to be important, she'd report it to her father immediately. Or Sydney. So she entered the URL, fixing the error.

A password protection screen came up. Username/Password. Which meant it was encoded in the url. Nadia tried santamonica and derevko, because they seemed the most obvious. Nothing. Then she checked the URL again, and entered santamonica and her putative birthdate.

Second try wasn't bad, especially with as badly encoded a message as the one Amanda Hugginkiss had put in that stupid email.

This message? Was much worse.

_Hope u don't know teh tr00th. Peace 1sn't dead, n07 by the hand of G0d's G1ft, anyway. 7he Gre3k's not respons1ble, 31th3r. You can't HANDLE teh truth, not with my mad w1ck3d pr00f! 7he Gr3ek knows 7he sc0re: 44-7. So u best go ask debian unstable why she's frontin' for God's Gift or hope's gon' lose her window in s1xte3 hrs._

Two seconds with Google let Nadia know that she was supposed to talk to Sydney (Debian Linux's unstable distribution? Sid); the rest of the message she memorized, writing down all the numbers. Somewhere in Santa Monica, the truth was hidden, encoded, and ready to handle. But first she had to ask Sydney something.

"You know who killed our mother," Nadia told her sister, deciding that the element of surprise would tell her more than Sydney would. And she wasn't wrong; Sydney stared at her in horror. "My God, Sydney. You do know."

"Nadia," Sydney said, mouth open. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Who's God's Gift?" Nadia asked. "I saw a message about Peace...Irina. Who's the killer, Sydney? I can ask my father if I have to."

Apparently her father didn't know, because Sydney paled, staring at her in absolute horror. "Nadia, please," she said. "Not here."

"Tell me," Nadia said, her heart pounding. And then suddenly, it made sense. "Oh. Oh, God, Sydney."

Sydney's worry turned to alarm. "What?"

"He lied to me," Nadia said. "He told me that man killed our mother. And he did it himself, didn't he?"

"Sloane told you that," Sydney said. "He's setting you up. He wants you off-balance, he wants you reeling and confused. To ruin things."

Nadia shook her head. "He wouldn't do it like this," she insisted, feeling nauseous. "But I won't confront him. Not if you help me."

"Help you do what?" Sydney asked.

"Don't let them kill Elena," Nadia said. "I want you to help me at the drop point. Watch the scene. Look to see if there's something very wrong going on. You asked me to doubt my father; I'm asking you to do the same."

Sydney's look was one of dismay, pain, and shock. "I'll help you," she said. "But if it turns out not to be true..."

"Then he still killed our mother," Nadia said dismissively. "For your sake, I hope it's not true."

She didn't know whether or not she wanted the message to be true. Her mother was probably alive, and Jack Bristow was helping her. And for everyone's good, Sydney couldn't know.

Nadia sighed as she walked out. Being part of this family was changing her in ways she never would have expected, and it was only going to get worse before it got better.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**+Part Seven: Alliances and Deceptions+**

_**(Thirty-four hours to go, a hotel room in Commerce)** _

"What if she's smart enough not to be on-scene?" Vic asked Elena, who was busily cleaning up in the bathroom. "Your sister doesn't seem like the type who needs to be there to watch someone go down."

"Usually, I'd agree," Elena shouted over the noise of the shower. "But she wouldn't hand over those weapons to anyone, and without working weapons, there's no case against me. I can plead ignorance and Sloane will 'believe' me. Irina will be there. Jack, too. They would send surrogates, but neither trusts anyone else enough to do that."

"So you think they'll be on the roof?"

"It's a clear shot of the hand-off area," Elena said, emerging from a cloud of steam in a ratty towel that covered almost nothing. "Irina likes the long shot. Jack could be anywhere, but Sloane will try to keep him in view."

"Rawling can have the area swarming with SWAT," Vic said. "She doesn't want to hand this off to the CIA at CIA's insistence."

Elena laughed, moving her towel to dry her hair. Nudity apparently didn't bother her at all. "I like her already," she said. "She's smarter than most cops I deal with."

* * *

(Thirty-three hours to go, The Barn)

"You're sure it's Irina Derevko? Not the sister using her name?" Rawling asked Dutch.

"I'm sure," Dutch said. "I had to go through hell to find the footage, but she's got a connection to Kern Little, too. Good-looking women, these Derevko sisters."

Rawling nodded, looking at the blurry photo. "If this goes down properly, not even the DA will be able to sit on you or Claudette's careers," she said.

"Oh, that's fabulous," Dutch said dryly. "I break a major corruption case in the **CIA** and I might get back to where I was. Sounds like repayment to me."

"If it's up to me, Wagenbach, everyone will know the role you played in bringing Irina Derevko and her rogue agents to justice," Rawling said sincerely. "Do me one favor?"

"What's that, Captain?" Dutch asked, sounding intrigued if mollified.

"Make sure Vic hears about this, anyone else in the Barn you trust, but do NOT tell any of the CIA agents buzzing around," Rawling said.

"You want Mackey in on this?" Dutch asked. "Why? Is he in bed with someone?"

Rawling smiled mysteriously. "I have no idea what you're asking when you say that, Detective Wagenbach."

* * *

(Thirty-one hours ago, Santa Monica)

Finding the phone number of the pawn shop had almost broken Nadia's brain, but Weiss had figured out 400-0183, extension 3, and indeed, that had worked. And now she was here, wondering who had set her up with a half-assed pawn ticket number (0010707331313007370) and the cryptic sequence 44-813 to work with.

"Do you have the password?" the pawn guy said, steady as clockwork. He had sparse strawberry blond hair and a narrow nose, and gave off a distinctly untrustworthy aura.

"44/8/13," Nadia said. "It was my grandmother's birthday."

He smiled. "You're cute, you know that?" he said, despite being older than her father and sketchier than anyone Nadia had ever seen. "I'm loving the look. Here's your package, Ms. Santos."

"Thanks," Nadia said. She took the small black pouch and looked at the guy. "Is there anything else?"

"No, we're good. Have a nice day," he said. Nadia, surprised, fled back to Third Street Promenade, where Weiss was waiting with ice cream.

"Get the package?" he asked.

"Yes," Nadia said, sitting down at the little table and opening the black pouch. As she suspected, it was rather sparse evidence...photographs, microfilm, two or three one-gig xD cards. A note.

_This should be all the proof you need to discover that Irina Derevko is alive and well, and that Jack Bristow was the one who arranged her 'death.' Tell your sister or not, but it's your mother who will be delivering those packages tomorrow. The attached should convince you; if I were you, I'd go to the Internet cafe three blocks over to read this, not APO._

Nadia handed it to Weiss, who read it, whistled, and said, "That's not at all suspicious, of course. Do you think it was your father or Elena?"

"I have no idea," Nadia said. "And yet, I believe the note."

Weiss grinned. "So do I," he admitted. "Irina Derevko is too smart to die, even at Jack's hand. And Jack is...I hate to say it, because he's Syd's dad...but he's insane. I always thought if I tried to date her, he'd shoot me."

Nadia's giggle was as forced as Weiss's attempt at humor; the two agents stared at the information grimly.

"So," Nadia said after about five minutes of watching the ice cream melt. "After we look at the information, who are we going to tell?"

"Probably Sydney and Mike," Weiss said. "Dixon I trust, too. But...your call. You're the one who the information is for."

"I know," Nadia said quietly. "And that's what makes me especially nervous."

* * *

(Twenty-eight hours ago, The Barn)

"I don't get Rawling sometimes," Dutch told Danny, who had wandered by inquiring about his cases about half an hour ago. "Why wouldn't she want the CIA to know that Irina Derevko is alive? I did a little research, and she's bad news."

Danny shrugged. "The CIA's been pretty high-handed around here," she said. "I figure Rawling's going to sell her information to the highest bidder."

Dutch nodded, looking discontent with the idea. "Maybe," he said. "But that's dangerous. It's the CIA; they could slap her with charges. Obstruction of justice."

"Maybe," Danny answered thoughtfully. "I don't know. And she wants you to tell Vic? That's comforting to know that he's involved."

Snorting, Dutch nodded. "I gave up understanding why we give Mackey latitude a while ago," he said.

"He's effective," Danny answered. "Speaking of effective, where's Claudette?"

"Getting lunch with James," Dutch said.

"Oh," Danny said. "Well, do you want to get lunch? We can talk your theories about this case...I'm kind of interested in the ins and outs of interagency communication, and the Russians..."

Dutch nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

The two of them were on the way out when Vic walked up. "Hey," Dutch said. "Rawling wanted you to know, as part of our investigation, that Irina Derevko's alive. I found out yesterday."

Vic, who looked poised to deliver another crack at Dutch's expense, started. "You know she's not dead?" he asked. "Who else knows besides Rawling? Any of the CIA people?"

"Rawling says keep it quiet," Danny volunteered. "Fucked up, huh?"

"Yeah," Vic said, reeling. "Thanks, Dutch-boy."

"You're...welcome," Dutch replied, shaking his head before recovering his composure and following Danny out the door.

* * *

(Twenty-six hours to go, Vic's apartment)

Shit. As if there wasn't enough going the fuck on, Irina Derevko wasn't dead, and if Vic couldn't bring her in, there were going to be all sorts of people on his ass.

He thought about calling Elena, but that seemed to be a bad idea. She'd just tell him that she'd already told him so, to believe him about the plan and keep going. Vic wasn't going to risk it. The plan seemed to be shoot first and hope Irina wasn't feeling it.

Bad plan. It ran as much risk of Vic being shot at by CIA -- and how did all of these fuckers seem to be related? -- as being shot by the Russian bitch. And God knew what Elena was up to with him.

Rawling wanted the CIA out of it; Vic could see why. He didn't trust Sloane or Jack Bristow...but the girl. Sydney Bristow, the niece, the daughter. She was clean; he could tell. And despite the mother-daughter link, she didn't want a superweapon on the streets any more than Vic did.

The more Vic thought about Sydney Bristow, the more he realized she was his out. The clean CIA agent, the one who understood how crazy the Derevkos were, would have his back. If she didn't go to her father.

It was worth a shot; Vic picked up his clean, new cell phone and dialed out.

"This is Sydney Bristow," the woman said. "Who is this? How do you have this number?"

"Agent Bristow, this is Detective Mackey with LAPD," he said. "I have some information that might prove interesting to you..."

* * *

(Twenty minutes later, Sydney's house)

"He confirmed that Irina is alive," Sydney said to Nadia as she ended the call and stared at her sister and Weiss. "He also said that Rawling doesn't trust CIA enough to give us that information."

"You see?" Nadia said. "Something is very wrong here, Sydney. Our mother is alive, your father is involved, my father may be giving us clues...I don't think we can stand by with this, Sydney."

"So what do you suggest we do? We're supposed to be on site tomorrow to intercept Elena Derevko, with deadly force if she does **anything** ," Sydney said. "Turn the gun on Mom instead?"

"If she's using the magic gun of scary?" Weiss asked. "I hate to say it, but good strategic thinking says take her out."

Nadia frowned at both of them. "I think it doesn't have to be cut and dried," she said. "Our main objective is to get that weapon out of the hands of **any** enemy of the United States, Irina or Elena. However, I think we should try very, very hard to keep both Derevkos alive."

"Which would stymie Irina's attempts to get back into her organization's money," Weiss added. "We found out that Elena's the next of kin for Irina in the underworld, and this is probably why Elena's a dead woman."

Sydney understood the logic. And hated both of them for applying it so ruthlessly, even though she could tell from Nadia's face she was miserable. "What about Sloane? And...Dad? They're both implicated, too," she said crisply. "What if we find either of them party to Irina's actions in framing Elena and using that weapon?"

Nadia grinned ghoulishly. "We use Detective Mackey," she said. "Have him arrest them."

"What if he's working both sides?" Sydney asked.

"What if he is?" Nadia asked. "He told you what you needed to know, defying his captain. Irina doesn't have the element of surprise working on her side...no one does. Except for us."

* * *

(Same general time, Vic's apartment)

She hadn't seemed that surprised. Vic wasn't surprised about that; he was just wondering how he was going to get through tomorrow. Irina Derevko was going to be making the drop about eleven-thirty in an industrial park. There were shitloads of good sight lines for firing on Elena, who was supposed to be receiving the drop.

Elena died, he was fucked. Irina realized he sold her out, Jack Bristow would probably fuck him up. Sloane, who cared? The girls sounded like they would watch and see what went down, which was no good. Vic needed more than what Sydney Bristow's watchful eye could...

His cell rang. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Vic, it's Shane," a familiar voice answered. "We gotta talk."

What the fuck was going on now? "I'm kind of busy with the spooks, Shane."

"And I'm kinda here to tell you I know," Shane said. "Like I said...we gotta talk."

 


	8. Part Eight: Firefight

**+Part Eight: Firefight+**

_**(Two hours earlier, The Barn)** _

A joint CIA/LAPD action was working about as well as anyone could imagine; Dutch had already had a run-in with Jack Bristow, and Vic was prowling like a caged animal, as he was apparently going to be leading teams.

Sydney didn't trust him one little bit, but she liked the "plan" as it was actually going down. According to the official plan, she was going to dress up as Elena Derevko and try to recover the weapon from the Chinese cartel bringing it in. As they were almost certainly patsies, she would be able to find out who for. Nadia was officially supposed to be backup, but she was going to be looking out for Sloane, Irina...and her father, who was supposed to be managing operations from a mobile command unit with Captain Rawling.

The dry smile on Rawling's face suggested that she thought Jack Bristow would find an emergency reason to put him at the scene as much as Sydney did.

"Elena Derevko is extraordinarily dangerous," Jack was telling everyone. "If she shows any gesture of moving for a weapon, do not be afraid to use deadly force. Detective Mackey has agreed to take most of the risk in looking for Elena Derevko when she arrives."

Mackey smirked. "And I'll get her, too," he said confidently. "Without firing a shot."

"We'll see about that," Jack said coolly. "Does everyone understand?"

* * *

(Three hours earlier)

"Listen," Mackey was trying to tell Elena, who was pacing back and forth in her motel room. "Are you sure this is the location your sister will choose? We can't fuck this up or your cute little nieces are going to find bullets in the back of their heads."

She took a drag off her cigarette and shrugged. "It's where Irina would choose, if she chooses anywhere," Elena said, tapping her foot. "She likes clean sight lines and quick multiple exits. Roofs suit her."

"Then that's where you and I will be," Mackey said. "Will she abort if she sees hints of fed presence?"

Elena laughed. "Of course not. She wants me good and guilty with witnesses," she said. "You convinced your captain to let you patrol the roof?"

"That I did," Vic said, wondering how to ask the last question. "I got a call last night from my guy Shane. You wouldn't happen to know anything about his sudden 'lottery jackpot' from some crazy thing his mother-in-law entered, would you?"

"I should have guessed Mr. Vendrell would call first," Elena said. "Yes. I restored some of the money you lost. I need your head in the game, Vic, and an ally worried about his financial future for his kids and his friends isn't that guy."

He didn't tell her she wasn't buying his loyalty. He also wasn't going to mention that the Strike Team had agreed to back him up on the roof, ready to shoot at any of the Derevkos and their lackeys if necessary.

And if the lackeys included Jack Bristow, Rawling would back him; her message via Dutch-boy yesterday proved that. Rawling knew Bristow was dirty, and while Vic didn't really want to kill the guy, he would if he had to.

"Thank you, Elena," he said. She smiled at him, bounced to her feet, and kissed him on the cheek.

"Do you have to go right away?" she asked.

"Define 'right away,' and maybe we've got a chance," he said. Elena chuckled, wrapped her arms around him, and began her final attempt to guarantee his loyalty.

For a minute, Vic felt sorry for her. She was clearly doing what had worked before, and it was a little pathetic that one of the most powerful women alive had to resort to cheap tricks to make herself believe she wasn't going to get shot in the back of the head by her blackmailed clients.

Then again, she was blackmailing him into the game. Sympathy didn't go nearly far enough to make him even think about warning her about anything.

* * *

(Twenty minutes previous, CIA mobile command)

Nadia had wanted to meet her mother more than anything she could imagine. Even knowing that Irina Derevko was not precisely a sympathetic mother, it seemed as though meeting her would give her insights into who she was. And Irina was her mother; even with the pain both her father and Sydney had caused her, having that family had changed things for the better.

But now everything was different. Her mother was alive and using all of them. She wasn't just using them...she was using them to kill her sister. Dutch Wagenbach had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that Irina Derevko was alive, and Vic Mackey knew for a fact Elena Derevko was running scared and not masterminding the production of the force guns.

Mackey also swore he was going to help make this op work without a hitch.

It was impossible to know who was trustworthy. If Irina Derevko was alive, who was in on it? Her father? Sydney? Was it possible that even Weiss...no, she couldn't believe that. Everyone else, though? Was fair game.

"Are you ready?" Weiss asked softly, looking at Nadia with concern. "This can't be easy for you, having to pull an op with only a corrupt cop for backup."

"I think Detective Mackey is actually one of the few we can trust," Nadia said, brushing back a few hairs and loading the cartridge of her nine-mil.

"Now you're trusting Mackey?" Weiss asked. "No offense, Nadia, but that guy is in deep shit on his own. He's probably not offering to help you for good reasons."

"He has three children," Nadia said softly, impressed at how serious she sounded. "Two of them have autism. You can imagine he doesn't want my family killing his to pay off a few debts."

Weiss seemed unconvinced, though he shifted back and forth. "It doesn't mean you can trust him."

"I can't trust anyone," Nadia said. "But trust's a temporary thing in a world like this. He told me everything he knew. I can trust him to want me to live long enough to save himself and his family, and that's all anyone can promise today."

Eric grimaced, and then put his arms around Nadia briefly. "I promise, Nadia," he said. "Not everyone is out to kill you tonight."

She gave him a sad smile. He really had no idea how fucked up the world was about to get for him and for Syd if everything Mackey said was true. "That you know of."

* * *

(Just about time, behind a building)

He was late. Or he was about to be. Elena was going to cut him into pieces; of course, she wasn't going to be around to do it. Irina would probably do it for her, for anyone daring to help Elena.

"Looks like your car broke down," a male voice said. Elena took a deep breath. Finally, Vic. Vic, who looked surprisingly civilian for wearing Kevlar and carrying more than one gun, and was smiling.

"Yeah," Elena said. "I think we're in the right place for that."

She gestured at the ostensible rendezvous point, the next-door impound yard full of cars that blocked most good sight lines.

"You know," Vic said, pulling out a key to the building that Elena couldn't have gotten on her own, "I think you're right."

* * *

(On the roof.)

"Are you certain that Elena will show up?" Arvin Sloane had asked for the twentieth time. Irina was considering shooting him with one of the two working force guns, but it would be too expensive to replace him. "This hasn't been a clean op. Too much information has gone in and out. Who knows who's aware of your status?"

"Elena has to consolidate her hold on my empire," Irina said, attaching the sight to her rifle. It wouldn't be an easy shot no matter where she ended up having to aim; the automobiles that were hiding CIA and LAPD personnel made it difficult to trace motion. If she even needed to aim downward; Irina would never admit it to Sloane, but she was fairly certain her sister had some inside information and would be...elsewhere.

Fortunately, she had Jack on the ground, controlling the dummy operation, and the best her sister had was her detective, who was clever but not particularly innovative. Besides which, he was already trapped between Jack's threats and Elena's, which would make him easy enough to manipulate.

"I still think this is a mistake," Sloane said. "We should be negotiating with Elena, not threatening her. Who else could be the face of your operations if she's dead?"

Jack's voice crackled over the radio Irina had in her ear. "LAPD is in position," he said. "The only one I can't find is Mackey, but Rawling told me that she's allowed him to do perimeter surveillance. Find him, find Elena, I suspect."

"Was it hard to plant the working guns in the box of failures?" Irina asked.

"Hardly," Jack said. "Rawling is avoiding me for some reason, and Sydney is distracted by her role as Elena."

"Sounds like we're going to win, then," Irina said with a smile as she looked into her scope. Everyone was in position. Sydney was about to receive the fake box, LAPD and CIA was there to witness Elena's death as an enemy of the United States, and she looked enough like a member of APO's task force that if some unobservant cop looked up, they'd figure the sniper was just part of the game.

"Irina," Sloane said. She looked up. And there, right on time, was Elena. And her cop friend.

Without missing a beat, Irina dropped her rifle and pulled out the one remaining force gun.

"About time," she said to her sister, who had her own gun at the ready. "I thought I'd have to take a shot at my own daughter, and if that happened, I was going to make you very, very sorry, Elena."

"Fuck you," Elena said, leveling the pistol. "Give me a reason not to fire this thing right now."

"Because the ricochet of your bullet against my gun would probably put it through your skull?" Irina replied. Elena wavered, sneered, and cocked the hammer.

"I'll take that bet," she said.

Before Irina could come up with a suitable response and fire, Detective Mackey stepped between them. And his service weapon was ready to go, if not aimed at anyone in particular.

"What the hell are you doing?" Elena asked as Irina calculated distance. The gun would have been easier, but the beauty of the force-projection weapon (besides its applications for buildings and objects, which was its real use -- guns still were very efficient and effective in removing unwanted persons from the scene) was that ballistics were hard to do, and her prototype was going to go into production the moment Elena was dead and Irina had her access to manufacturing back.

"I'm here to put Ms. Derevko under arrest for unlawful possession of a firearm," Mackey said. "And Mr. Sloane for aiding and abetting a known felon and terrorist."

* * *

Standing in front of Elena Derevko -- no, Vic corrected himself, standing **between** Irina and Elena Derevko -- was about the stupidest place he could have placed himself. And the only place to keep Irina from using her gun on Elena or him, not with everyone watching. The Strike Team were almost in position, and once they were...

"Vic," Shane's voice informed him. "We're good to go now."

Vic stared Irina Derevko down, discarded rifle and all. "So you're the other Russian sister," he said. "Not bad at all. Which babydaddy are you fucking this week to get this box of fun?"

Shane choked on that. "Jesus, Vic," he said. "I forgot how big those balls were."

Irina stared Vic down with cool loathing. "You're mistaken about my motives," she said. "I'm working to recover stolen property from Elena to turn over to Mr. Sloane and Mr. Bristow."

"Right," Vic said. "Where is Jack, anyway? He informed me he'd feed me my own balls if I didn't get Elena here in a meeting. I'm here, you're both here, so why don't we take a good look at that weapon you've got?"

Irina snorted. "If you move, I will kill you," she said.

"If you so much as move while Detective Mackey does, I'll kill you," Elena replied, holding the .44 with professional chill. "As a point of fact, I think I wouldn't be the only one taking the shot."

Arvin Sloane had a gun aimed at Elena so fast that not even the emerging Strike Team could do much about that. "But I'll be the only one taking this one," he said. "Tell whoever that is to hold or Elena will die."

"Are you resisting arrest, Mr. Sloane?" Vic asked. "That is the former Strike Team, and they're here to take you into custody. In fact, if you don't come with me and I don't give an all-clear to Captain Rawling, SWAT has some orders you might not like."

"Put the gun DOWN, Mackey!" Irina shouted. "I swear to God, I will shoo..."

But the look of disdain from Sloane was clear and Vic and Elena were ready when Sloane fired; Vic discovered very quickly he was a much better shot than the old man, catching him in the shoulder.

The Strike Team was in position. Vic was gambling a lot on that. He wasn't in the least surprised, if a little pissed, when Irina decided that she had one shot to use before the Strike Team nailed her...

"MOM!" Nadia Santos yelled just as Irina took the shot, distracting her just enough to make for an off-target trajectory. "DON'T!"

At that point, Elena jumped. Toward Mackey.

* * *

Nadia hadn't found Jack, and one glance at a rooftop sniper convinced her it was time to let that omission slide for a moment.

So this was her mother. Firing on someone who was attempting to save her life, even as Elena, the "evil" sister in the fairytale, tried to push him out of the way. Despite the size difference, and despite the fact that when the invisible shock wave hit her, she screamed and a good deal of blood spurted.

"Nadia, get out of here," Irina said as the other LAPD officers, including the one Nadia had interviewed, nervously aimed toward her. "I don't want to hurt you."

"The way my father is hurt?" Nadia asked. "Or the way your sister is?"

Mackey was moving, dazedly, in the corner of Nadia's vision. Elena Derevko wasn't. Arvin Sloane was also moving, and Nadia was having a hard time not dropping her weapon and going to him.

"You can't do anything," Irina said, backing up. Nadia wasn't sure if she was talking to her or the cops. Probably both. "Help your father and let it go, Nadia. We're both not winning today."

Nadia knew it was coming. Sydney had told her how Irina had escaped in Mexico City, but there was no parachute this time. And she needed to get the force gun away from Irina.

Surprisingly, it was Shane who helped with that, as his vantage point to get to Mackey and Elena put him in range to hit Irina with his service weapon.

"I hate to break up the crazy family reunion, but if you don't put that gun down NOW, I will shoot you," Shane said.

Irina laughed. Shane fired, directly at Irina and her weapon. Nadia shook her head; it was a stupid shot, but Shane was clearly trying to serve his country. And Vic.

And surprisingly, Irina dropped the weapon, easily dodging Shane's inept shot.

"Good-bye, Nadia," she said, dropping backward off the roof. A swearing Shane following her, Nadia rushed to the roof edge. There was a truck full of garbage bags that belonged to the legitimate owners of the yard...being driven off at high speed.

"Jack," she said.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Shane asked as Nadia grabbed his walkie-talkie.

"ATTENTION ALL UNITS!" she shouted. "Suspect is leaving the area in a cargo truck, license plate number CA Z86H194! Consider her armed and dangerous! Syd, Dixon...someone follow Irina. She's getting away and Jack is driving..."

"We have an officer down," Shane said. "And two wounded. Give me that."

He took back the walkie-talkie, heading for Mackey as Nadia remembered, with a guilty start, her wounded father.

"Dad?" she asked, turning away from the chaos. "Dad, can you hear me?"

It hurt. It hurt more than anything Nadia had ever imagined doing. But she, like her mother, was a Derevko. She could wait for her shot, regroup, and wait for another day if it didn't work out.

 


	9. Part Nine: Aftermath

**+Part Nine: Aftermath+**

_**(Three days later. A hospital.)** _

Elena Derevko wasn't nearly as pretty when she was sporting a black eye so severe her face was swollen, a cut lip, and an assortment of welts and abrasions on her arms -- and those were just the visible injuries. Vic was surprised she wasn't dead yet. Her sister had been promising as much with the glaring and smirking during the firefight.

Then again, her sister and her husband, plus that Sloane guy, were probably too busy hiding out and trying to keep Sloane alive to hassle Elena. Especially with everyone else willing to do that for them.

"I'd offer you a cigarette," he said, looking around the hospital room, "But I don't think you need any more damage to your health."

"Probably not," Elena agreed wearily. "I'm surprised you're allowed to see me, Vic. The American government wants to execute me for my crimes, or so the nice guard outside told me. No visitors for a terrorist, even one in my state."

"You mean Jimmy Krajzowski? He's a good kid. His dad and I worked a few cases together," Vic said with a comforting smile. "He understood that the government wouldn't mind if we bent the rule a little."

Elena managed a grotesque imitation of a smile. "I remember why I like you, Vic," she said. "So, what shall we discuss? I can't promise that anything we say isn't being overheard, of course."

He thought she was here to discuss payment. Ironic, given that Kern had already paid him for her two days ago. But after being sold out by her sister, Bristow, and Sloane, Vic could imagine Elena didn't trust anyone to want her for more than her usefulness.

"I'm curious about how much you knew about Irina's plans for the stolen intel," Vic said. "Seemed to me you were working the streets while Irina ran the big show and kept you in the dark."

Elena's smile faded, but a strange glitter came into her one non-maimed (and still sexy) eye. "Irina has always kept to herself. She trusts no one," she said. "If Jack Bristow and Arvin Sloane believed they were in her confidence, they are very great fools. Irina is a genius, you know. And fucked in the head."

"That's what the feds who are all over my office keep telling me," Vic agreed, leaning back in his chair. "I got six different guys from six different services asking me what I said to her, what she said to me, what you two wanted with me."

"Will you be reprimanded for your involvement?" Elena asked. "I've heard that IAD at LAPD is somewhat harsh."

Vic shook his head. "Kern Little and I both didn't realize who you were," he lied. "Remember? If we'd known the extent of your operations, I don't think I would have waited until you implicated yourself in the gun-and-drug-running, Ms. Derevko."

"Oh," Elena said. "That's true."

She almost smiled again, and her demeanor was as smartly seductive as it had been before. Vic wondered if she'd be pissed to hear that her niece Sydney had been the one to come up with the idea; Vic liked Elena fine, but he wasn't going to jail for her. Sydney wanted Elena to turn against Irina Derevko and her co-conspirators, and work at the CIA with her. And apparently, if he survived, the Sloane guy, even in his newly reduced role.

For that matter, Sydney, once she'd heard Vic's testimony, thought maybe Vic could supplement his income by doing a little off-the-books work for the feds, too. Vic found himself liking the idea of working against international terrorism more and more; he'd never realized what a difference it made in day-to-day life until it fucked with his. He'd agreed to help her, and Sydney had found him much less of a thug than she'd clearly thought.

Especially once she'd heard about his inside knowledge of the Armenian mob and their operations. Agent Bristow thought he might have the makings of a good informant.

She had no idea.

"So why don't we talk about what you didn't know about your sister's operations, Elena?" Vic asked, smiling at her. "I'm sure the feds would be fucking grateful to hear just how deep your roots **don't** go."

* * *

(One day earlier, undisclosed location)

"That didn't go well," Jack said to Irina, looking out at the Pacific. "Not only is the world aware you faked your own death, I've been compromised. And all because you wanted access to your sister's money and network and couldn't wait for it."

Irina looked up from where she was sitting. "Yes, I know," she said snappishly. "Do you intend to browbeat me with that again?"

"I'm not sure you're aware how dangerous the situation is," Jack said angrily, trying and failing to disguise his anger. "Sydney isn't going to accept this well. She was already estranged from me thanks to your murder; can you imagine her long-term reaction to knowing we were in bed together? With Sloane?"

"You're panicking, Jack," Irina said. "Nadia hesitated. She wants a family."

"And Sydney doesn't?" Jack asked.

"Not nearly as much as Nadia does," Irina said. "Sydney is too dedicated to the right as she sees it, Jack. Nadia..."

Jack closed his eyes. "Don't tell me how you intend to manipulate your children today, Irina," he said. "I have no interest in listening."

"And tomorrow?" Irina asked. "This isn't going away. The prophecy remains in effect. And it's not helped by the wild card of Elena in play."

She sighed. Jack remained silent.

"It's funny," he said. "How we underestimated Mackey and Elena so thoroughly. When they needed to trust each other, they did. And Mackey even managed to win the trust of his team in the end."

Irina looked up. "Is the lesson that we should trust each other?" she asked. "Or that we should trust Rambaldi?"

Jack snorted. "Could we ever do either?"

"No," Irina said decisively. "Even if it means we'll lose. I'll have to think about that."

* * *

(Original Three Days Later, The Barn.)

The Barn made APO look tidy. Sydney could not **believe** how complicated the politics were. She had Weiss working with the former Strike Team, who were less-than-interested in sharing anything about their former leader despite the tensions. Nadia was talking to Detectives Wyms and Wagenbach, who **knew** Mackey was up to his neck in corrupt behavior. Dixon was talking to Councilman Aceveda, who was as smooth a customer as he'd ever seen, and she was talking to Captain Rawling, trying to forget about the mission she'd just sent Mackey on.

To recruit her aunt Elena, who had almost killed her and Vaughn, to work against her parents, and Nadia's father. More unbelievably, Director Chase wanted her to run APO on a permanent basis, now that Arvin Sloane was undeniably compromised and despite the fact that he would be returning. Sydney had told Chase that she wasn't the woman for the job, but everyone else disagreed.

"Your insights on Jack Bristow and Irina Derevko are equally unparalleled," Kendall had told her firmly when she'd tried to complain to him when Chase wouldn't budge.

"You mean my parents made me into their greatest creation, and it's my job to undo them?" Sydney asked angrily.

"If that's how you want to think of it," Kendall had replied. And with that, Sydney had had to be content.

Rawling seemed sanguine about the CIA near-takeover of the Barn for now; if anything, Rawling was playing a complicated game with Aceveda and LAPD and having a covert CIA presence backing her seemed to please her.

"You're not worried that Elena Derevko will continue to work Farmington? Especially if the government is forced to give her a wide latitude?" Sydney asked. "And that I used your officer to do it?"

"Miss Bristow, if I worried about the state of Vic Mackey's soul, I wouldn't have time to get anything else done," Rawling replied. "People like Mackey walk a thin line so that the rest of us can sleep comfortably. Sometimes it's smarter to let them do it."

Sydney was appalled. "Turn a blind eye to corruption? Is that what you're advocating?"

Captain Rawling's expression turned offended. "No, Miss Bristow, that is not what I meant," she said crisply. "There's a difference between tolerating the thinner lines and ignoring them. Allowing yourself to think you're too good for the in-between isn't going to do anyone any good."

She didn't even seem to be talking to Sydney anymore, but Syd got the point. It was why she'd agreed to Dixon's plan to recruit Elena Derevko into the fold, and why she'd covertly recruited Mackey without mentioning it to Rawling. Sydney was pretty sure Rawling would know soon enough, but she got the point.

They did what they had to, in order to keep the world safe. And the problems of their souls, and the souls of those who did the dirty work weren't anyone's problem but their own.

"Does it get easier? Knowing the difference?" Sydney asked.

Captain Rawling looked out the window at the rest of the Barn. She would not meet Sydney's eyes. "It seems like it does," she said. "Maybe we're just learning to tolerate thinner lines."


End file.
